the only one left/Leaving
by aces
Summary: Someone says good-bye...between that and the title, I think I'm giving more than enough away.
1. the only one left (Face's POV)

This is set in the murky future somewhere, sometime, and it's depressing beyond belief

This is set in the murky future somewhere, sometime, and it's depressing beyond belief. Character deaths abound, be warned. But please, read it anyway, and tell me what you think--if you could actually ever see these characters acting like this, if it's just maudlin self-pity (although how it could be self-pity when I'm not even in the story, I dunno...), whatever you think. Again, I don't own 'em, I make no profit off this, and I have only one disclaimer: keep some tissues nearby. Just in case. 

Revised May 2001.

the only one left

(Face's POV)

"You and I have memories longer than the road that stretches out of here..." ~the Beatles, "Two of Us"

"All things must pass all things must pass away..." ~George Harrison, "All Things Must Pass"

The only mourner left.

Not that there had been that many to begin with. Amy had come, of course, as had Tawnia. Frankie had shown up and stood beside me at the grave silently for a long time before leaving. He never spoke once, the look on his face unreadable. It only displayed his grief that much more eloquently.

Hannibal had gone years ago, BA a few years after that. I was the only one left. I'd just buried Murdock.

* * *

I'd dropped by to visit him a couple weeks ago, only to find him in the hospital again--but not the psychiatric ward this time.

He didn't look happy to see me.

I wasn't happy to see him either, not that way. I was shocked at how thin, how tired he looked, propped up in the hospital bed with a needle in his arm. I hated that, hated seeing my oldest living friend so weak. So old.

Hated how guilty I felt too. I hadn't seen him since BA's funeral, hadn't known he was in the hospital until I knocked on his apartment door (not even sure he still lived there; it was the most current address I could find for him) and his neighbor stopped outside her door and told me he wasn't home. The pretty young woman had taken him to the emergency room a few days ago and had brought him some of his things the day after that when he'd told her he'd be there a while.

"Is he a friend of yours?" she asked, looking me over carefully and trying not to appear too obvious about it. I thought I sensed disapproval, as if she thought I should have already known where he was, should have come sooner to be with him. She probably knew how few friends he had, that he kept himself to himself. Or maybe I was just reading too much into her tone of voice and look, my guilt escaping. She'd probably seen my surprised and dismayed look at the news that he was in the hospital. Again. I wondered if she knew his history.

I smiled at her pleasantly and replied, "A very old friend I haven't seen in a while. I was going to surprise him. Can you tell me which hospital? I should visit him."

She hesitated before smiling back and taking a notebook and pen out of her purse to write down the hospital name and address. She ripped the sheet off and handed it to me, asking if I needed directions. She was a nice girl, obviously concerned for the silly old man she'd lived next to for who knew how long. 

I told her no, I wouldn't need directions; I'd lived in the area before. I smiled at her again before taking my leave, and I could feel her thoughtful gaze on my back as I walked down the hall to the elevator.

I've always had a great smile. Still do. Comes in handy in my way of life. I know I've aged well, probably better than I deserve, looking "distinguished" in my "old-fashioned" three-piece suits. All part of the con. I've always been a fraud.

He didn't look happy to see me when I entered the room.

I flashed him a big smile anyway, hoping to switch our roles around for once: normally _he_ cheered _me_ up. I carried a big bouquet of a colorful variety of flowers, something I'd hurriedly picked up pre-made at the gift shop in the hospital lobby downstairs. "Hey, Murdock," I said, setting the flowers down on the compact dresser next to his bed. There was nothing else on it and nowhere else in the room to put the flowers. "Long time no see."

"What're you doing here Face?" he grumbled, picking nervously at the blanket that covered him. For a moment I was transported back years ago, to when Hannibal and BA and I were still on the run and Murdock was still in the VA hospital and he'd done something he wasn't proud of. He didn't want to get caught out.

He didn't want me to know he was sick.

"Well, I dropped by to see you, but you weren't at your apartment," I explained cheerily, playing with the flowers, rearranging them, smelling them, fingering the silkiness of their petals, giving myself something to do. I couldn't look him in the eye. We were both tense; I felt awful, not knowing what to say to him. I'd known him for so long; we'd been through so much together, and all I wanted to do was get the hell out of that hospital room and onto the first plane out of the city. "Your neighbor--she's quite a looker, isn't she?--told me where you were."

"You shouldn't have come Faceman," Murdock muttered, still sounding grumpy, his voice old and scratchy and tired.

"Murdock," I admonished him, finally stepping away from the flowers and looking at him properly, "you know I couldn't do that. I had to at least see how you were doing."

Not well, by the look of it.

He changed the subject. "Why're you here anyway? Where've you been the past few years?"

I shrugged uneasily, prowling around his private room, looking at the monitors, opening the closet and bathroom doors, staring out the window that just looked onto another dreary city street and more dreary city buildings. I was unable to look at my friend again. "I've been...traveling," I answered at last. "Around the States, Europe mainly. I was in the area when I realized I'd completely lost touch with you, so..." I trailed off, not mentioning that "in the area" was actually a two-hour plane ride that had disrupted some plans I'd made and frustrated some people I was supposed to meet. The thought of Murdock had been preying on my mind the past few months, the way I'd abruptly left at BA's funeral, not even bothering to talk to the pilot and, to all intents and purposes, immediately disappearing on him...again. Just like at Hannibal's funeral, BA's angry gaze that time watching me flee. Murdock hadn't even bothered to meet my eye then. But lately I'd been thinking about him, worrying about him.

Maybe I'd known.

"How've you been Murdock?" I asked, staring out the window and not at him, my attention caught by a young man walking a dog. I watched them wander down the street.

"Okay I guess. Until now...Billy died a few weeks ago."

I winced at my ghostly reflection in the window, fairly sure he wouldn't be able to see the expression on my face. I'd managed not to externally wince earlier, when Murdock called me by my old nickname, the first time I'd been called that in years. Last time was, of course, at BA's funeral. The last time before that was at Hannibal's. Nobody I met these days knew about my old nickname.

Billy. Even I had never been exactly sure how sane (or insane) Howling Mad Murdock was. He spent so much time being deliberately manic, deliberately off-the-wall and in such a comical (if sometimes embarrassing and nerve-wracking) way, that sometimes his intelligence and perception were utterly astonishing. And in those rare moments of lucidity, you were sure his insanity was as much of a con as anything I've ever pulled off in my varied and long career.

But then there were the moments when even I was afraid because Murdock wasn't playing with a full deck. Not afraid for my life, just uneasy being around a person who wasn't using the same rules I was. (Even I use some of the same basic rules as the rest of the world.) Afraid...I could end up like him. After all, I'd seen much the same things as he had. What real difference was there between us?

"Billy huh?" I said at last, forcefully shaking myself out of my morbid reverie. "I'm sorry, Murdock. He must have been a very old dog."

"No no," the captain replied, sounding surprised. "My cat." I turned finally to face him in surprise, and he grinned at me shyly, sharing the joke--or the irony--with me. "Yeah, I know what you're thinking Facey. No, I had this cat for only a couple years--it was already pretty old when I found it on the street and took it in."

I smiled warmly. Murdock loved everybody, especially those out on the street and alone. "Well, I know you took good care of him, Murdock. And I'm sure he loved you."

"Actually, it was a she," Murdock said ironically and I laughed. He frowned then, as if working out some complicated math problem with difficulty, and looked away from me, unable to look _me_ in the eye this time. I watched him in concern and finally stepped away from the window, sitting down in the visitor's chair next to his bed.

"Hey Murdock," I said, "what's wrong anyway? Why are you in here?"

He managed a wry half-smile that flickered and died quickly on his face. "Not the usual, is it Face?" He waved a hand around the hospital room, avoiding looking at the IV dripping into the vein in his arm.

"I--guess not," I answered slowly, not sure where this conversation was going.

"I'm dying Faceman."

He said the words so simply it took me a long, confused moment to understand. And then I felt sick. I've never had to say those words to someone. I hope I never do. It was the second time I'd heard those words from a very close friend of mine. And I wished I'd never made Murdock say those words to me.

I sat silently for a long time, not knowing what to say. I wasn't about to go into the "I'm so sorry" line, or spout platitudes, or protest in denial and argue. I hadn't done that when Hannibal told me he was dying; I hadn't done that when Murdock tracked me down to tell me about BA.

He deserved better. They all did. A hell of a lot more than empty words and impersonal sympathy. And a hell of a lot more than I'd given him--any of my three oldest friends--in a long time. 

I felt crushed. I thought the guilt alone would break me. And the grief. Murdock was the last real link I had to any part of my past--a large part of my past, in fact, the most colorful part of a past that I never told anyone I met these days about. I was suddenly nowhere. Nothing. Utterly alone for the first time in a long, long while. I hadn't been in contact with Murdock in years, I know, but he was always there, somewhere; he could be tracked down if we needed each other. Not anymore.

I was losing the best friend I'd ever had.

Murdock was looking at me in concern. I almost started crying then, for christssake. I didn't deserve his concern; _he _was the one dying, not me. I stood up, placing my hand on his shoulder, and said as cheerfully as I could, "Why don't you give me the keys to your apartment? I was planning on staying in a hotel, but I can clean your place up instead, take care of it for you. How does that sound?"

He blinked in surprise at my words, not what he'd been expecting, and shook his head slowly. "Face, you don't have to, my neighbor said she'd take care of it..." he trailed off and looked up at me thoughtfully. "No. Go ahead, Face. Please stay at my apartment." He leant over painfully, opened the top dresser drawer, his nose practically in the big bouquet of flowers I'd given him (I somehow managed to smile at the comical image he presented me), and extracted his apartment keys. He handed them to me, somehow squeezing my hand tightly for an instant.

I smiled brightly and turned to leave.

"Thanks for the flowers," his quiet voice stopped me unwillingly, my hand on the doorknob. "I suppose I should stop calling you Face since you don't like it. Do you still go by Templeton?"

I froze, not daring to face him until I had my emotions under control. Then I turned and smiled widely, "No, please, Murdock. Call me Face."

He nodded unsmilingly and watched me leave.

* * * 

I went back to Murdock's apartment, let myself in, and looked around. The place was small, only one bedroom, and tidy. There hardly appeared to be anything personal in the place at first glance, no paintings on the walls and few knickknacks. Only a small bookcase next to the TV and VCR, CDs and the stereo resting on top of the bookcase. There was a photograph of a large, disreputable-looking grey cat on one of the bookshelves, next to a framed picture of Amy, Hannibal, BA, and me.

I bought a few groceries, storing them in the kitchen, before going back to the hospital.

I wasn't going to let Murdock die alone.

We'd all gone our separate ways years ago, as soon as we could, really. A couple years after that, I'd found Hannibal and arranged a reunion with him. When he told me he was dying, I'd left, only coming back briefly for the funeral. And then again, later on, I came back only briefly for BA's funeral.

Murdock had been there for both of them. He'd found me both times (with great difficulty, I'm sure; I wasn't exactly keeping in touch or advertising where I was) for the funerals, calling me on the phone and telling me what had happened in his most impassive, expressionless voice. Never any judgement. Never any anger. At least I'd known about Hannibal. BA's death had shocked me.

I had run away. I couldn't handle it. I was such a coward. And I couldn't do that to Murdock; he could not die alone. I've thought about dying alone; I've often thought I _would_ die alone, and I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. Let alone my last best friend.

I went to the hospital every day, staying as long as I could, getting there at 7 am when visiting hours started and leaving at 8 pm when they ended. At night, I packed his things, listened to soft music, read some of his books, attempted to fall asleep on the couch but spent more hours staring up at the ceiling and remembering than sleeping. I refused to sleep in his bed. We talked when I was at the hospital, reminiscing, remembering, catching up on what we'd missed of each other's life without going into why we'd missed so much. Even though I was acutely aware of why. Sometimes we watched television (Murdock loved the Cartoon Network), or I slipped off for a coffee or bite to eat when the doctors and nurses came to do tests or when he wanted his privacy. Sometimes we just sat in silence for a while, lost in our own thoughts; sometimes one or both of us dozed off. I got to know the nurses as well as Murdock did; they became used to seeing me almost as much as they did their patient. Murdock and I made each other laugh, remembering past scams, telling old jokes; sometimes he even helped me gently con the other people in the hospital. I couldn't help myself. At least it was harmless. We played card games; I even tried not to cheat.

Sometimes he'd be too sick to talk even to me, and I would just watch him, wish I could do more for him than just sit there.

"I used to not mind hospitals," he told me suddenly one day, sitting up in bed the way I normally found him, staring up at the ceiling. I was in the chair, my usual position, my hands resting on the chair arms. We hadn't been talking before he spoke, comfortable in our silence; I glanced up at him in mild surprise. "When I had to live in them. But after I was out for a while..." he shuddered.

"I've always hated hospitals," I answered, more bitterly than I'd intended.

He glanced at me, wry smile flickering on his pained face. "Is that why you were always the one to break me out?" he asked almost jokingly.

I grinned back, trying not to laugh. "C'mon, you know it's because I was the best con man," I told him. "Could you really see BA sneaking you out?" He just grinned and shook his head.

A week went by. I got to know his next-door neighbor, Ashley, quite well (she seemed to get over her disapproval of me fairly quickly, if she'd ever felt it), and I took her to see Murdock a few times in my rented red convertible.

"This is your car?" she asked the first time she saw it.

"Yeah," I answered, confused. "Why?"

She blushed as she settled herself in the seat, purse in her lap under her clasped hands. I closed the passenger door (I am always a gentleman) and walked around to the driver's side. "It just seems so..."

"Young?" I asked ironically, starting the car. She nodded mutely, the pretty blush still coloring her cheeks. "I'm young at heart," I told her self-mockingly and she laughed. But I didn't feel like laughing with her.

I didn't feel particularly young either.

"You don't have to feel guilty Faceman," Murdock told me one day. I jumped upright in my chair, nearly jumping out of my skin, eyes blinking open, heart pounding, startled. I thought he'd drifted off to sleep, as I almost had. Obviously I was wrong.

"Guilty?" I asked lightly, hoping he hadn't seen the spark of dismay in my eyes. The look on his face said he had. Dammit, he always knew me better than I wished.

"For leaving," he continued. "When Hannibal and BA..."

"Running away you mean," I said bitterly and ran a hand through my hair, a habit I'd given up years ago, or so I'd thought.

"Yeah," he agreed. "But it's all right, Face. You'd already run away before that. We understood. We'd all done it too. I just wish you'd kept in better touch."

Christ, I almost felt like crying again. I always closed the door when I came visiting, so we could both have some privacy, some peace. I was especially glad at that moment that I'd closed the door as I struggled to regain control. I hoped to God Murdock wasn't looking at me.

"I'm sorry I left you guys alone," I said after a long pause, wishing I could speed through this conversation, get it over with with a minimum of fuss and difficulty. Real emotions always make me feel that way. I'm so much better at the con.

"It's too late to regret the past Face," Murdock sighed wearily. "And if you _were_ going to regret it, there's so many other times that would be worth regretting more."

"Yeah," I said, trying desperately to lighten the mood and change the subject at the same time, clutching at straws, "like that woman I met when we working in New Mexico--do you remember her? I knew I should've asked her out. She had the most gorgeous green eyes and black hair..." 

"Thank you for being here Face," Murdock said softly, cutting me off.

I stopped and stared at him. "Look," I said finally, for once not running a scam, "I might run away from you guys--we might _all_ do that--but when you need me, I'm here. You should know that after all this time." I took his hand and held it. He'd been there for Hannibal and BA. I was gonna be there for him. That was what the team was _for_. "I will not leave you alone, Murdock."

He nodded and reached forward to hug me.

* * *

He was worse the next day I came to visit. Normally he'd be awake, sitting up, waiting expectantly for me. The instant he saw me, his childlike grin would light up his face, and it'd be just like the old days. Sometimes I would find myself conspiratorially grinning and winking back, almost as if I were there just to break him out again. 

But this day he was sleeping fitfully, his head turning back and forth, muttering and gasping for breath. I took one look at him and shot down the hall to the nurse's duty station, running as if Decker or Lynch was pursuing me. The nurse there--a big, motherly black woman who always wore gaudy lipstick--soothingly cut off my agitated words, sympathy sparkling in her eyes. She already knew.

I went back to Murdock's room slowly and sat down in my chair, dazed. I'd brought new flowers, and a cute little teddy bear I'd seen in the gift shop window downstairs. It had seemed the perfect thing for the crazy old pilot.

I held the flowers and bear crowded in my lap, watching him. The sun was rising behind me, beams gently entering the room, softly apologizing for the intrusion.

After a couple hours, I threw away the old flowers, set the new ones in their place. I put the bear in the crook of Murdock's arm, and his whole body convulsed, squeezed in around the bear, clutching it. He seemed to breathe a little easier after that.

I closed the curtains. I couldn't bear the sunlight at that point.

I stayed all day, not leaving my chair except to pace around the room or adjust Murdock's covers. Most of the time I just sat and watched him sleep. He never woke up that day. Nurses and doctors came and went, checking his chart, adjusting his IV, taking his pulse and BP. They all looked sad and moved around me quietly, knowing better than to ask me to leave.

I was grateful to them for that.

The room was quiet, peaceful, except for Murdock's mumblings. Sometimes he seemed to be dreaming about 'Nam, and I'd hold his hand when he reached out blindly for someone, anyone, to stop the memories for him. Sometimes he dreamed about girls he'd met, one of his smiles crossing his face. I heard him talking to Billy once, and even he seemed confused if he meant his imaginary dog from years ago or the cat he'd cared for recently. I heard him speaking to his "wee people" one moment and barking softly like a dog another, things he hadn't done in years.

At one point he seemed to be having a fight with BA in his dreams, actually getting indignant and then quickly apologizing (no doubt after being threatened by BA's fists), and I almost managed to laugh. Another time he was begging Hannibal to take him to his favorite fast-food restaurant. I had to smile at that. But when he deliriously remembered a time he had been pretending to be me, and was failing yet again to romance a girl, I had to get up and go to the bathroom in his private room to splash water on my old, lined face.

Faded blue eyes stared back at me blindly through the bathroom mirror.

"Dammit," I half-whispered, half-sighed, and felt my throat clench. I went back to Murdock's bedside.

I stayed long past visiting hours, the nurses only half-heartedly asking me to leave and not pressing when I firmly told them "No." I couldn't even be bothered to give them a trademark charming smile.

Around eleven o'clock that night his hand groped around on the bed, reaching for mine blindly. I grabbed it and held on desperately, watching his every breath, not sure whether he knew I was there or not. He could have just been reaching out for anyone. He hadn't dreamed aloud in a long time, not since that afternoon. The room had been deathly silent for hours.

His eyes flickered but didn't open. "Thank you Face," he breathed out so softly I was uncertain whether _I'd_ dreamed it.

He sighed and released my hand.

I sat back in my chair, a long breath leaving my body and nothing replacing it. I felt hollow, empty, incapable of understanding what had just happened. I stayed looking at him for a few minutes more, cold in my light jacket and plaid flannel shirt, even though the clothes had been almost too warm when I'd left his apartment early that morning. I was numb, my throat still clenched, my eyes stinging but no tears coming. The silence and darkness of the room seemed to suffocate me, reminding me how utterly alone I now was.

I didn't know what to do anymore. I had nothing left.

The only mourner left.

I stood up shakily and walked out of the room, not stopping until I reached my rented convertible. I'm not sure how I got there; I don't remember the walk. I was completely dazed.

I sat in the driver's seat, staring at the wheel blankly. I finally remembered to turn on the ignition and pull out of the parking lot.

I drove back to his apartment building and went inside. I left the elevator at the appropriate floor and walked down the hall. I was working on autopilot and trying to tell myself I should feel _some_thing at the death of my last best friend.

Ashley was sitting outside Murdock's door, her legs raised up to her body, staring at the wall opposite with the same blank look that was probably on my face. She glanced up when she heard me coming, steps whispering on the carpet, then quickly stood up with a youthful grace I remembered having once and now envied, brushing down her slacks and blouse absently and trying to appear businesslike and unworried.

I stopped when I reached her, waiting. Didn't even open the door. The girl--she'd told me she was a senior in college, had a part-time job at a store in the nearby mall--looked up at me, took one look at my eyes, and quietly broke down crying.

Her tears shook me out of my daze, at least enough to open the apartment door and escort her inside. She sat down on the couch, not bothering to hide her tears, yet not asking me to comfort her. She was in her own private world of grief.

I went into the kitchen, pouring us both a small measure of Scotch (I'd been surprised to find that and the half-finished vodka in one of Murdock's kitchen cupboards), and then took the drinks into the other room.

"Here," I said quietly, handing her the glass. She took a tiny sip and coughed.

"I'm used to beer," she told me, a watery smile on her face.

I smiled distantly back, taking a sip of my own drink. "It's all right," I told her. It didn't matter.

The tears fell down her face again at my words, and she placed her glass carefully on the coffee table. "Dammit," she sniffled, wiping at her eyes furiously. "I don't know why I'm crying so much."

At least she could cry. At least she could feel something. "He was a good man," I told her, still in that gentle voice. "And someone you knew. Death's always hard."

"He was so nice to me," she said. "He was the nicest man I've ever met. I used to do his shopping for him, or go with him on walks. He seemed so lonely. The walls are so thin here," she half-laughed, half-cried, "sometimes I could hear him talking to his cat, Billy. Scolding her, or playing games with her."

I almost broke down then, remembering an imaginary dog with the same name. 

"He sometimes talked nonsense," she went on at random. It comforted her to talk about him; I recognized that from many other deaths and many other grieving people. "To me, to his cat. I sometimes wondered about his..." she stopped, blushing.

I smiled, to tell her it was all right. She really was a very tactless girl. "He spent a lot of years in various psychiatric hospitals after the Vietnam War," I informed her.

"Oh." She nodded slowly, the tears sparkling points of light in her green eyes. She had short, curly ash blonde hair that framed her face, made her look younger than she was. Or maybe I'm just an old fool who can't tell people's ages anymore. "But it was... nice nonsense. Harmless. And on his good days he was so funny, so sweet...I got worried tonight," she went on, glancing at me surreptitiously to check I was listening, or because she was concerned about my lack of emotion. "I got off work the time you usually come back, but you didn't come. And when I knocked, you didn't answer. Finally I just waited outside the door..." she trailed off, taking a deep, shuddery breath. 

I hadn't turned on many lights; we sat in near-darkness, her face glimmering a ghostly pale. We stayed silent for a long time, keeping each other company and perhaps offering each other some small comfort. After the first sip, she left her drink untouched. I nursed mine, holding it in my hands to give them something to do. Finally I looked at my watch and said tiredly, "It's after two in the morning, Ashley. You should go; I'm sure you've got class or work in the morning, and I'll have to make arrangements..."

She nodded and stood up quickly. "Thank you, Mr Peck," she said to me shyly, "for letting me stay here for a while and talk. I know you knew him a long time, longer than I ever did, and I'm sorry he's...gone. I hope..." she trailed off and stared into space for a long, considering moment. Finally she looked down at me again where I was still seated and gave me a warm, comforting smile. "I'm sure he's happy wherever he is."

I smiled back at her, oddly grateful to this young woman for spending the past hour or two with a lonely old man, for caring enough about another lonely old man to cry for him. "I think he is too," I said softly and felt the silence of the apartment creeping in around me, the cold darkness seeping in.

I stood up and opened the door for her, always the gentleman. She paused in the doorway, glanced back at me consideringly through young green eyes. "Thank you again Mr Peck, for coming here, especially when you did," she said at last, surprising me. "I know it meant a lot to him to have a friend with him. Especially you," she added with a tiny smile. "He's talked about you, never by name, but I recognized you..." I found myself grinning at that, having a feeling what stories Murdock had told her about me. "And I'd never seen him so cheerful as when you were with him in the hospital," she concluded.

"I know it meant a lot to him to have you as a neighbor," I told her gently, somehow managing to speak through the lump in my throat. I could feel the tears finally pricking at my eyes, ready to fall, and knew Ashley could see them shining in my eyes. But for once I gave up the con and let the real emotion show through. Murdock would've been proud. "He might have been lonely, but he did have you as a friend."

She smiled, tears in her own eyes again, and impulsively reached up to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. She stood back, still smiling. "You're as nice as he is, Mr Peck."

I grinned, almost laughing at that absurdity and knowing better. "And you're much too nice to an old man like me, Ashley."

She grinned back, almost impishly, and turned away, walking the short distance to her own door.

I almost shut the door, thought better of it, and stepped out into the hall. "Ashley," I said, my soft voice penetrating the silent darkness of the hall.

She looked up, her hand on the doorknob, about to open the door. "Yes?"

"Call me Face," I told her, my heart aching, and went back into Murdock's apartment, shutting the door behind me gently, listening for its soft click.

That was when I finally cried.

* * *

I spent the next few days making funeral arrangements, tracking down the small handful of people left who would care about Murdock's passing. Amy. Tawnia. Frankie. I'd already packed up most of the pilot's things--he didn't have that much--and put them in storage. I didn't have a fixed address at the moment, couldn't take his stuff with me or send it on ahead to somewhere when even I didn't know where I'd be going next. I'd found a largish box under his bed, the only thing down there, with his old leather jacket and one or two baseball caps. A couple much-favored t-shirts, the watch he'd given me when I thought I was leaving and had finally given back to him (but only under duress) when it turned out I wasn't. Some pictures too, of Hannibal with a cigar in his mouth and a pretty girl at his side, of BA in all his gold necklaces and baring his teeth at the camera in what he considered a smile, of Murdock himself grinning manically at the camera and giving it the Vulcan salute, of me laughing and sprawled in a deck chair, sans blazer, shirtsleeves rolled up, a rare unguarded and relaxed moment. I didn't remember seeing the picture before, couldn't tell where it'd been taken, had only a vague idea of when because of haircut and clothes. There were other pictures as well, of all of us in uniform together (I looked impossibly young; Murdock looked impossibly uncomfortable--he'd always preferred his leather jacket, especially when flying), of Amy with her curly brown hair long or short, of Frankie throwing a Frisbee when we were in Virginia, of BA about to strangle me for something, probably knocking him out yet again to get on a plane.

Dusty old memories pushed under the bed. That box had not gone into storage; I was taking it with me, putting in a few other various odds and ends that I'd wanted to keep to remember him. Remember them. All of them.

As if I could ever forget.

Amy and Tawnia each hugged me at the funeral, kissing my cheek and crying. I hugged them both back, grateful for the contact, for any human touch to remind me that I wasn't as dead as the rest of my team.

What the hell was I going to do next?

Frankie stood next to me at the burial, never once speaking.

I hunkered down painfully on protesting knees, staring at the mound of fresh earth covering the body of my friend. The only mourner left.

Or so I thought. Ashley put a gentle hand on my shoulder, and I looked up at her, blinking, uncomfortable and sad. "Will you be all right?" she asked me. She had stood at the back during the funeral and burial, out-of-place and shy, not knowing anyone there besides me.

I smiled at the girl and wished I was about thirty years younger, if not more. The thought depressed me, but her kindness kept me slightly warmed, if not cheered. "I'll be fine. Eventually..." I trailed off, staring into nothing and trying not to panic. I refocused my attention on her after a moment and managed a smile for her benefit. "It was very nice meeting you, Ashley. You made a wonderful next-door neighbor for the past couple weeks."

She smiled, but her eyes remained pensive and sad. "You could stay," she pointed out, but she didn't sound hopeful.

"No," I said. "I need to move on."

_We're all always running_ I told Murdock. Or perhaps he told me.

She nodded understandingly. "I'm sorry I didn't meet you sooner," she said shyly. "You and Murdock seemed quite a pair."

I turned back to the newly dug grave, smiling sadly. "Oh we were. We all were. Quite a team..."

"Good-bye, Face," she whispered, her voice catching, and stole away.

I stayed by his grave for a long time that morning, the dazzlingly bright sun warming my back. Finally I stood up with difficulty, my knees almost giving out on me, damn them. I'd locked up the apartment early that morning, before the funeral, and turned in the keys to the landlord. I had a plane to catch that afternoon, after I dealt with the car. But I stood by his grave just a little longer, looking around at the long, green grass softly blowing in the warm breeze, at the sky above me, a perfect, solid blue with not a cloud in sight, the warm sun shining down. 

I took a deep breath.

"Good-bye Captain Murdock," I whispered into the peaceful silence. "Lieutenant Peck would salute you, but he hasn't been in the military for a long time...and somehow I doubt you'd care for it much," I added with a grin that quickly faded away.

The only one left.

"Good-bye Murdock," I said again around the lump in my throat. I carefully placed the picture I'd selected of the four of us--Hannibal, BA, Murdock, and me--on the mound of dirt covering the pilot's coffin. Tawnia had taken the picture, years ago, when we all actually had a reason to run. We were grinning at the camera, our arms around each other's shoulders, a frozen instant of rare relaxation. I paused, staring at the four of us from so long ago, the real sun shining down on our photographed smiling faces. "...And you're welcome."

I walked away slowly from the grave, the sun on my face, my hands in my pockets, the breeze blowing at my hair, tears in my eyes.

Some dirt blew over the photograph, covering the smiling faces.

All was silent.


	2. Leaving (Murdock's POV)

Leaving (Murdock's POV)

The other version of the same story--I was looking over "the only one left" and realized Murdock should get his say as well. And here it is--not as good as the original, I think, but it shall suffice. Better keep those tissues around.

Leaving 

(Murdock's POV)

I woke up one morning, unable to breathe. I couldn't think beyond the pain. I thought I was gonna die, right then and there.

But it passed. For the most part anyway. I managed to get dressed, having to stop every so often to catch my breath, to relax and will the pain away. And then I faltered over to my neighbor's, knocking on her apartment door.

Ashley opened the door, a concerned look crossing her face when she saw me; I never came over so early in the day, definitely not without an invitation first. I tried to give her one of my smiles, one of the really goofy ones that makes everyone either laugh at me or get scared of me, but it took too much effort. She smiled back at me warmly anyway. She was a good kid; she worried too much about her foolish old neighbor. Maybe that's why I liked her so much. At least she cared. There were so few people left who really cared...

"Hi, Mr Murdock," she said, taking my arm and slowly leading me to the chair nearest her front door. I hadn't been in her apartment much, actually; normally she came over to mine to spend time with me. She loved to play with my cat Billy, but Billy died a couple weeks ago. I think she might even have liked listening to me ramble on about my past, about my friends. Hannibal, BA…Face. At least, she didn't seem to mind my silly old stories.

I'd told Ashley dozens of times to drop the mister, to just call me plain old Murdock like everyone else, but she always forgot. Or maybe she didn't. I hadn't known there were still such old-fashioned people left in the world. 

"Hey there, angel," I replied, hating my breathlessness. "I was wondering…if you could…do something for me."

"Of course," she frowned in worry, standing over me. I took a moment to just breathe before I said the next sentence. I didn't want to say the words. I had to.

"Take me to the hospital?"

She bit her lip, paused for a moment, and nodded.

* * *

I hate hospitals. I didn't use to, but that was years ago, when I spent all my time in them. When they were my home. So of course the gods of irony would have me now dying in one. But at least I was alone. No one to worry or care--other than my next-door neighbor, but she only knew me as a silly old man. Ashley would forget about me soon enough. It was better that way. I knew from experience. It was always hardest on the ones left behind. It was better to die alone, no one grieving.

And then _he_ showed up.

* * *

He slipped in, silently shutting the door behind him, as if he'd just snuck past the nurses and was gonna spring me out of the VA hospital again. I almost reached over to grab my baseball cap and Billy's leash before I remembered.

He turned around, holding a monstrosity of a bouquet of flamboyant flowers. A look of shock crossed his face when he got his first good look at me, but it was quickly replaced by a big, charming grin, one I recognized all too well. The famous Faceman smile, designed to relax the most paranoid and mistrusting. "Hey, Murdock," he said cheerfully, coming over and carefully setting the flowers down on the dresser next to my bed. There was nowhere else to put them. The room was bare, colorless, ugly as hell. Perfectly appropriate for a hospital room, perfectly appropriate for how I felt. He paused, unsure now what to do with his hands. He glanced at me covertly, then quickly looked around the room. "Long time no see."

_No, really?_ My heart was settling down now, back to a slow, regular rhythm--it had seemed to stop, plummet into my stomach, and then try to leap out of my body when he had first entered the room. I couldn't believe he'd found me. After all these years of losing himself, of running away, he went and found me in the hospital. Again. The gods of irony really didn't like me. "What're you doing here, Face?" I asked, not looking at him but rather at the blanket. There was a fuzzy stuck to it; I tried to pull it off. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a subtle flinch in his eyes at my use of his nickname. Of course. He didn't go by that anymore, did he? Why should he anyway? It was _our_ name for him.

"Well, I dropped by to see you, but you weren't at your apartment," he told me, also unable to look at me, instead focusing all his attention and nervous energy on the flowers. It gave him something to do, something to concentrate on. I could understand. They really were the gaudiest flowers I'd ever seen. He definitely had me in mind when he bought them--he'd have bought himself a tasteful dozen roses or something. "Your neighbor--she's quite a looker, isn't she?--told me you were here."

Still chasing the girls. Even when they were way too young for him; I knew Ashley was still in college. Some things really do never change. But I didn't want to find out how else he'd stayed the same, how he'd become different since we'd last had a real conversation, long before Hannibal had even died, back when we had been an actual team. I wanted to be left alone now. "You shouldn't have come Faceman," I told him, knowing I sounded grumpy but unable to stop myself. I was scared he would stay and I'd have to explain. I didn't want him to see me like this.

"Murdock," he said chidingly, as if he were coaxing me into another one of his cons, "you know I couldn't do that. I had to at least see how you were doing." He looked worried then, dropping his fake cheeriness for a moment. He looked scared and uncertain, like he was still the kid I'd met back in 'Nam.

I couldn't tell him. Not yet. So I changed the subject. "Why're you here anyway? Where've you been the past few years?" I really was curious about what he'd been up to all these years, without us, now that he was back, if only for a moment's conversation. He looked like he'd done well enough by himself, still wearing an impeccable suit, his hair still styled. It seemed wrong to see him so old. But at least he still looked as handsome as always, even...distinguished now. I just felt old and decrepit in comparison.

He hesitated, then shrugged and started checking out the room, once again distant, his defenses and cons up again. "I've been...travelling. Around the States, Europe mainly. I was in the area when I realized I'd completely lost touch with you, so..." He stopped speaking, pausing restlessly by the window and then stilling, his attention caught by something I couldn't see. _Lost touch?_ The last time I'd seen him was at BA's funeral, the time before that Hannibal's. Yeah, I'd say he'd lost touch. But it sounded like he'd finally gotten the life he'd always wanted, had always been conning anyway. "How've you been Murdock?"

I paused uncertainly. But it didn't matter; he wasn't paying me any attention. Still I couldn't tell him. Why hadn't he left me alone? "Okay, I guess. Until now...Billy died a few weeks ago." I was grasping at straws, anything to keep the conversation away from why I was there, in that room. 

His response was slow in coming and I couldn't tell why. I couldn't see his face, what he was thinking, with his back to me and his intent gaze outside the window. "Billy huh? I'm sorry, Murdock. He must have been a very old dog."

I was confused at first, my head caught between the distant and nearer past. And then it cleared; it always does, these days. "No no," I corrected him. Of course he wouldn't know. "My cat." He swung around, looking at me in surprise, and I had to smile at him, for the first time since he'd stepped into my room. I was suddenly glad he'd come back, happy to be with my oldest friend again. No one else knew me like he did, understood me. Or my past. He'd shared so much of it with me. It was good to finally see him again, to talk to him. I didn't feel so lonely. "Yeah, I know what you're thinking, Facey. No, I had this cat for only a couple years--it was already old when I found it on the street and took it in."

He gave me a warm, genuine smile, not one of his fake, charming ones. His real smiles invariably made me feel better, because they were so rare. "Well, I know you took good care of him, Murdock," he said, still too far away from me, still standing by the distant window. There was a time when he wouldn't have turned his back on that window. "And I'm sure he loved you."

"Actually, it was a she," I informed him, and he laughed appreciatively. Billy had been the last thing left for me to care about. When she'd died, I'd realized that. Realized I was really alone at last. And suddenly the pain was hitting me again, and I remembered this wasn't the VA hospital and the psychiatrist ward anymore, and Face wasn't going to get me out of this one this time, and both Billys were dead and gone, and I looked away from him, hoping he wouldn't see the pain in my face.

Damn. He always knew me better that I wanted him to. He was giving me another concerned look, and he slipped away from the window, finally sitting down in the visitor's chair next to my bed. He wasn't going to run away again, I suddenly knew, as soon as he took that seat. He was back for good this time. I wasn't sure whether to be grateful or resentful. "Hey Murdock," he said, a frown creasing his forehead. "What's wrong anyway? Why are you in here?"

I tried to smile for him, but it was a half-hearted attempt at best. I hurt too much. Besides, he deserved the truth. He was my oldest friend, my only real living friend, and he'd actually come back. "Not the usual, is it Face?" I knew I sounded bitter as I waved my hand around the private hospital room.

The frown deepened in his pale eyes as he got more confused. "I--guess not," he agreed slowly. I didn't know how else to say it, so I just told him.

"I'm dying Faceman."

I watched his reaction out of the corner of my eye, staring down at my blanket again. Saying the words aloud had made me feel even sicker than before. At first his face was blank, slack, like he was a computer waiting for instructions. And then he sorta slowly...collapsed. Internally. I could tell what he was thinking, just by the subtle variations of his facial expressions. I've always been able to--but then, he has an expressive face. Comes in handy in his line of work, when he manipulates it right. He felt guilty. Lost. Grief-stricken. Scared. He'd never had family, not really; BA, Hannibal, and I were his parents, his brothers. And now he was going to be an orphan all over again.

I felt so sorry for him. I didn't want to leave him alone like this; it'd been easier mere moments ago, when I didn't know where he was, when I thought I was alone. He caught my eye for an instant, the anguish in his face almost unbearable, and then he stood up and put a hand firmly on my shoulder, giving me one of his best, most charming grins. "Why don't you give me the keys to your apartment? I was planning on staying in a hotel, but I can clean your place up instead, take care of it for you. How does that sound?"

I certainly hadn't been expecting that reaction. The gods of irony weren't giving up on me quite yet. I shook my head in confusion. "Face, you don't have to, my neighbor said she'd take care of it..." And then I really looked at him and saw that he needed to do this for me. For himself. And I understood. I'd felt the same way when BA and Hannibal were dying, quietly refusing to be pushed away even when they only wanted to be left alone. I came to a decision. "No. Go ahead, Face. Please stay in my apartment."

I leant over, opening the top dresser drawer to extract the keys, deliberately almost falling into the monstrous bouquet of flowers. I caught the wan half-smile that crossed his face, and a small spark of happiness came to life and died in me. At least I could still cheer my old friend up, just a tiny, little bit. I gave him the keys and squeezed his hand, wanting to thank him for staying without having to tell him so.

He smiled at me brightly, forever the suave con man, and headed for the door.

"Thanks for the flowers." The quiet words popped out of my mouth just as he took hold of the doorknob. I couldn't stop myself adding, "I suppose I should stop calling you Face since you don't like it. Do you still go by Templeton?"

He froze, his back to me. I felt like I was punishing him, but that we both knew he deserved it. Only what any older brother would do to the prodigal son returned. He finally turned back to me and gave me another wide, bright, fake smile that would have fooled anyone else. "No, please, Murdock. Call me Face."

I nodded and watched him leave. But I knew he'd come back.

* * *

I'd been angry with him. He had run away from us, from all of us--I knew he hurt Hannibal when he ran, after Hannibal told him he was dying. Hannibal had told me afterwards that he had arranged to meet with Face for drinks, for a little reunion since they hadn't seen each in other in a couple years. When he told the lieutenant, Face had got up from the table and left. I knew Hannibal had understood that Face couldn't face that, but it had still hurt the colonel deeply. And it had hurt BA just as deeply when we couldn't even find Face when the big old mudsucker was sick. At least before Hannibal's death, we'd kept in touch with Face occasionally; we could find _some_ way to contact the con man. But from the moment Hannibal had told him what was happening, he'd effectively disappeared.

I'd taken care of them both, the colonel and BA--despite BA's protestations. I'd watched them die. Face had run away, denying they were hurting, he was hurting, I was hurting. Unable to accept their leaving. It had angered me that Face hadn't even known BA was sick, let alone dying, until I finally tracked him down, with a helluva lot of difficulty--he'd learned very well through the years how to disappear. And I hadn't been able to find him until just in time for BA's funeral.

But I didn't let him know how angry I was, either time I called him on the phone--once for Hannibal's funeral, once for BA's. It had been so good to hear his voice, but it had angered me even more to know he was still around somewhere, not with us. But when he'd showed up at the funerals, in dark formal suit, looking a little older and more careworn each time, I couldn't stay angry at him. He never stayed longer than the funeral and burial itself, just giving me a quick, guilty look and running away again before I could even talk to him. There had been something in his eyes each time…it had scared me. I couldn't blame him for leaving. We'd all been running most of our lives, especially Face. He just couldn't stop running. I couldn't stay angry with him. Even though I had sometimes wanted to.

And I knew he felt guilty now. Guilty for running away, for not being there for us. He felt like he'd let down the team. I didn't quite know how to tell him he'd been forgiven.

He stayed with me everyday. He showed up first thing in the morning, armed with a big grin and dressed in more casual clothes than what he'd shown up in that first day, and stayed until the nurses good-naturedly kicked him out. He was always ready with one of his easy, charming grins and an even more charming manner that people still couldn't resist. He watched cartoons with me without complaining (he would never admit it, but he really did like Looney Tunes, especially Bugs Bunny); we shared old stories, old memories, and told each other about what had happened in our lives lately (I wondered if he would ever give up conning); he slipped away when he could tell I needed to be alone because I couldn't control the pain enough in front of him. He seemed so young at times; I sometimes forgot where we really were, what was really happening. It almost felt like..."the good old days."

But we both knew it wasn't. We were a couple of old men and I was dying. We sometimes sat for hours in silence, the comfortable silence of long friendship. I would look at him, amazed at how much older he looked and yet how well he'd aged. He made me feel a hundred and two compared to him. He was still the best con man I'd ever met and he _still_ cheated at cards.

But he had grown up. He wasn't just older in age and appearance. He was quieter, more thoughtful. He seemed...more genuine, even to me, who'd always seen beneath his conning facade. He wasn't out to charm everyone anymore just to make them give him whatever he or the team needed. Now he charmed everyone--the nurses and doctors and patients--merely by accident. By habit. He was such an old hand at it he didn't even notice.

I shook my head at him. "Hannibal would be proud of you," I told him one day.

He looked up at me in surprise. He'd been playing with the TV remote control, trying to find something other than afternoon soaps and cartoons. "What?"

I just smiled. His frown deepened. "Murdock...about Hannibal. And BA."

"It was peaceful for them both," I said quietly. "Which pissed them off no end."

Face reflexively smiled at that, but his eyes remained sad and guilty.

He sometimes brought Ashley with him. She really was a sweet girl who'd for some reason taken a liking to me. I probably reminded her of her grandfather, sadly enough for me. She would sit, perched on the windowsill or the edge of my bed, and be entertained for hours by Face and me. Face loved to tease her; I loved to make her laugh, watch her face light up. She really seemed to like Face—I know, what woman doesn't?—but she understood him, I think. Better than people usually do. Of course, I'd told her lots of stories about him. He can make for very entertaining stories.

And other times it was just Face and me, alone. He was determined to stay with me, to keep me comfortable--probably also to atone for leaving Hannibal and BA. But I was just glad to see him again, surprised by how much I _needed_ to see him again. I had been so lonely, really afraid of dying alone, no matter how much I told myself that it was better that way. I wanted to tell him I was grateful to have him around, but it didn't seem right. He'd probably get angry--or feel more guilty.

But I've never been one to hold back. So I finally told him one day not to feel guilty. He'd just started to doze off, slumped over in the visitor's chair--_his_ chair--I had startled him awake, dismay flashing in his blue eyes but quickly gone. "Guilty?" he asked lightly, probably hoping I'd drop the subject.

Like I would. I had to get it off my chest sometime; I've always been a worrier. "For leaving. When Hannibal and BA..."

"Running away you mean," he finished for me bitterly and ran a hand through his hair. I hadn't seen him do that in years. It was unnerving.

"Yeah," I said frankly. We could always be honest with each other. "But it's all right Face. You already ran away before that. We understood. We'd all done it too. I just wish you'd kept in better touch." And it was the truth.

I thought he was going to cry. I didn't look at him, wanting to give him some privacy, some dignity. But he needed to know it was all right. He really could take the guilt thing too far. Maybe 'cos he was Catholic.

"I'm sorry I left you guys alone," he said quietly after he'd gotten himself back under control. He said the words with difficulty, as if he didn't want to have this conversation.

I looked up at him for a moment, then away again, shifting uncomfortably in my bed. The pain kept getting worse; the doctors could only give me so many meds. And I'd been drugged up and out of my head with_out_ drugs too much in my life to care for it. "It's too late to regret the past, Face," I told him tiredly. I felt like my entire past, along with Face's and Hannibal's and BA's, was pressing down on me, breaking me down. "And if you were going to regret it, there's so many other times worth regretting more."

"Yeah," he smiled desperately, "like that woman I met when we were working in New Mexico--do you remember her? I knew I should've asked her out. She had the most gorgeous green eyes and black hair..."

"Thank you for being here Face," I said quietly. I could finally say it. I felt better now. Just slightly. I'd gotten everything that had been incessantly bothering me off my chest.

He just stopped and stared at me, for a moment his face stripped bare, all pretenses, any cons completely gone from his mind. "Look, I might run away from you guys--we might _all_ do that--but when you need me, I'm here. You should know that after all this time." He took my hand, blue eyes intense and sincere. "I will not leave you alone, Murdock."

It was my turn not to cry. He really had grown up. I reached forward to hug him.

* * *

_They were shelling. I could barely get my helicopter up from the ground. But I couldn't let them die. My team needed me to get them out of here. They were _not_ going to die!_

Someone grabbed my flailing hand and held me down, away from the stick, away from control of the helicopter. _Am I back in the VA? Is this just another hallucination?_ But the hand was warm and strong and callused. Not a nurse's hand. I felt safer, calmer, my disorientation and fear seeping out of me. My team didn't die. I got them out. We took care of each other. 

_Billy was being a bad dog--cat?--again. I wished Hannibal would take me to Captain Bellybusters. I was grinning at Amy, trying to cheer her up when she thought we were in serious trouble...again. BA was getting angry at me again--he's so easy to set off. It's fun sometimes, so long as I remember not to push him too far. He knows I'm only teasing, the big teddy bear. Face was leaving. I couldn't believe he was leaving. What would we do without him? What would _I_ do? I tried to be like him, tried to pretend I _was_ him, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't be Face._

I reached out my hand blindly. I didn't want Face to leave me alone again. I didn't want to die alone.

Someone took my hand, the same hard, strong grip from before, when I'd been hallucinating about Vietnam again. And I knew Face hadn't left me. I felt better. It was easier to go now. I hadn't let my team down. They hadn't let me down.

"Thank you, Face." I barely managed to get the words out before the darkness shut in.

* * *

He stood over the freshly dug grave, a pained, panicked look buried deep in his pale eyes. "Good-bye Captain Murdock," he said aloud, his soft words carrying in the peaceful silence of the warm, sunny morning. "Lieutenant Peck would salute you but he hasn't been in the military in a long time... and somehow I doubt you'd care for it much," the old man added with a fleeting, irrepressible smile that quickly died away from his face, leaving it gaunt and scared and lonely.

"Good-bye Murdock," he repeated, his voice breaking slightly. He knelt down and placed a picture on the mound of dirt covering the coffin and stood up again slowly, painfully. He stared down at the grave for a moment longer, body and facial expression frozen, a tear sliding down his cheek unchecked, unnoticed. "...And you're welcome."

The man walked away. A breeze blew some dirt over the picture he'd left, covering the smiling faces of the four people in the photograph. The four of us. All was silent.

I waved good-bye to my old friend, unseen by him, and watched him leave, my own heart breaking for him.


End file.
